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The game was on, and I was on my fourth pint of beer.  You were sitting at the bar, several seats down, and I was trying to get up the nerve to talk to you, but I couldn’t.  You were about my age, also alone, with red hair and glasses that made you look like a naughty librarian.

A couple came and sat between us.  I struck up a conversation with the guy.  I figured that I could use them as a way to break the ice with you.  It worked.  After a few drinks, we were all laughing and having a good time.  The couple then told us that they had to go.  They had to meet friends at another bar.

You’d been flirting with me.  Everybody knew it.  When they got up to leave, I said, “I think I’ll stay for another drink.”

You said, “Oh, I dunno.  I have things to do tomorrow.”

“Come on.  I’ll buy.”

You relented and agreed to stay, somewhat halfheartedly, but that seemed to be mostly for the sake of the other couple.  As soon as they left, you moved down to the seat next to me.

“So, you just broke up with your girlfriend,” you asked.

“Yeah.  It’s been a couple of months now.  This is really the first time I’ve been out,” I lied.  I’d been out, but mainly to drink away my sorrows.

“Me too.”

There was an awkward pause.

“How long has it been since, you’ve, you know, been laid,” you asked.

“Too long.  Months.”

“Me too.”

Another awkward pause.

“I live five blocks away,” I said.  Let’s get out of here.

“No.  Let’s go to my place.  Oh, and I don’t have any condoms.  Well have to stop and get some.”

“Have you been tested recently,” I asked.

“Yeah.  Three months ago.  After I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me.”

“I just got tested, too.”

“I guess we don’t need to stop.”

“Nope.”

We drove to your place, and opened a bottle of cheap wine.  We started making out in your kitchen before we got through one glass.  I lifted your skirt and pulled off your  panties and you grabbed my hand, taking me to your bedroom.

“Strip,” you said, wasting no time.

You took off your clothes as fast as I took off mine and pulled me into the bed.  I crouched between your legs and spread your lips, revealing your pink clit protruding   through your red pubic hair.  Just as I started to lick your clit, you pushed me over on my back.

“It’s been too long.  I want something inside of me.”

You didn’t tease me.  You were strictly business.  You threw your leg over me and started fucking my cock, faster and harder as you went, hammering your hips into me and grinding as you went, apparently trying to get all of the stimulation you could from me.  You growled like a wild animal, arched your head back, pushing the head of  my cock against the front wall of your vagina, driving us both to the brink.

But, I needed to take you.  As much as I wanted you to fuck me, I needed to fuck you.  I picked you up and put you on your back.  I put your ankles on my shoulders and  started fucking your pussy as hard as I could.  I pushed your legs up, tightening you around me while I hammered away.

You said, “I’m cumming,” and closed your eyes tightly.

The thought of your orgasm, the idea of your pussy quivering, your cervix contracting, set me off, and I bucked my hips into you as hard as I could as I shot my cum into your naked pussy.  I pulled my cock out of you and looked at it, still glistening with your juices and my cum, and saw my cum dripping out of you.  Had I not been so tired and drunk, I would have wanted to do it all over again, right then and there.  But, instead, we collapsed in a heap and passed out.

And I didn’t even know your name.